The Light's Last Resort
by lotuskasumi
Summary: Hope Estheim is a private detective reflecting on some uncomfortable recent failures when into his life charges the stony, determined Ms. Farron, bringing with her a familiar case on which she hopes to shed new light. Together they work to find out what happened to her sister, as well as other missing young women. [Eventual HopeLight. Bioshock-inspired AU.]
1. Signs and Instinct

"Life isn't strictly business." - Frank Fontaine.

* * *

There was a wound in Hope's dream and it was shaped like a rose. The light that bled out from its edges was a pale, fading red, like blood in the water, like the hem torn off a dress, wrapped around the burn on his wrist. He could feel the pain just gently, a nagging little twist that haunted him even in the depth of sleep. Memories were funny that way.

Hope dreamed of a small hand locked inside of his, both sets of fingers trembling and frozen cold like ice to the tips. ___Just a little further. We're almost there, almost free. _He woke up before they could be free, stuck with the weight of that grip still holding his hand down onto the dark oak desk. It took several long, drowsy seconds for Hope to realize just what had startled him out of his rest. It was the sound of a steady, impatient staccato of knocks on his office door.

"It's open," he called.

Hope watched the light from the hall dart into his office, a blinding white glare robbing him of sight. He held up a hand and winced, the dream fading, reality reigning hard and cruel.

A woman entered, long-limbed and stern-faced but her light eyes were strained, as if keeping tears back. Hope had seen that look before, in clients and in mirrors. "You're Mr. Estheim," she said.

Hope waited for her to continue, clenching and releasing his hand to try to alleviate the weight of the dream. "The door tell you that?" he asked, more bitter than he ought to be. He took a breath to settle himself down, leaning back in his chair, letting the breath out.

The woman tilted her head. "No, a man."

"What man would that be?"

"Named Villiers. Strong man, blond hair, blue eyes. Said he works for you."

Hope moved his teeth over the inside of his cheek. "On occasion. When he's needed. He's on sabbatical now, for personal reasons."

The woman nodded. "Snow and I share a common purpose. He said I should come to you if I ever needed any help."

___Snow? First name basis now? _"And does that purpose bring you to my office today, Ms...?"

"Farron." Ms. Farron pushed a hand into her coat pocket and drew out a small photograph, clearly torn and tightly gripped, for there were creases along the front and edges. She stepped forward and dropped the picture onto Hope's desk, pulling her hand back before he could make a move to grab it. "I've lost someone. My sister, Serah. That's her in the photograph."

Hope picked up the picture, but kept his eyes on Ms. Farron. "When you say lost..." he began, waiting.

Ms. Farron put her hand on her hip. "___Lost_ is not ___dead_, Mr. Estheim. I know how to make the distinction. She's just... she's gone." Ms. Farron paused, her lips going pale and thin as she tightened them. "She's only eighteen, and she's all I have left. Please... you're my last resort."

It was either a sincere farce or an unprecedented display of honesty, taking even the speaker by surprise as the words left her mouth. Her eyes dropped to the meticulous display of stacked papers on Hope's desk, but he had seen the weight in them before the decline, the sudden gloss of threatening tears. It made him uneasy.

Hope pulled open a drawer in his desk and sifted between the papers there, cases and files abandoned but not forgotten. Just misplaced, like the people themselves. He tried not to read the names, though he didn't have to - they jumped out at him, desperate with their fury. ___Yeul. Labreau. Alyssa._ The handkerchief he sought was tucked into the back, next to the tattered dress hem that had featured once again in his dreams. A grim good luck charm he ought to have given to a fire long ago, but a miserable sense of sentimentality made him reconsider.

"Here," he said, placing the handkerchief on his desk, pushing it closer to Ms. Farron with his fingertips. Like always they were gloved and rigid, still cold from the dream. "In case you need it."

Ms. Farron looked at the offered cloth as she would a rude gesture. Her lip curled. "I don't want your pity," she told him. "I want to know if you'll help me."

Hope considered her words as he looked at the photograph, running a finger idly along the jagged white tear. He'd seen the picture's duplicate more than once before, proudly displayed by Snow when sober and all times else. It was one of the first photographs he and Serah had taken together after their engagement. ___We're just waiting on her sister to give her approval, then it's all set._ Hope never did get to find out from Snow before he disappeared if the approval had been granted, but the answer had found its way to Hope eventually. Ms. Farron may have torn Snow from the photograph, but his arm remained behind, his large hand resting around Serah's thin shoulder. Hope tried to imagine the lost half of the photograph. He missed that ridiculous grinning face; it had been weeks since he saw the man, three since he last heard from Snow at all. ___Don't bother looking if I don't come back, Hope. I don't want to be found if I can't get this right._

"How long has she been missing, Ms. Farron?" Hope asked, noticing the way she was studying his face, how her eyebrows inched slowly upward the longer she looked. He wondered what she saw there that made her look so surprised.

"Three weeks."

___The same with Snow. _Hope carefully made a note of this in his thoughts and pushed it aside. "I assume you've explored all the usual channels of assistance?"

"I've looked for her and went to the cops, if that's what you mean."

It was. "What made you lose faith in their investigation - if you don't mind me asking?"

Ms. Farron's mouth twisted. Her words were bitter fruit. "They didn't even bother looking for her. They found out she was young and in love and had written it off as some stupid elopement before they could even write up the official report. Not that they didn't pretend," she added with a small shrug. "They asked around a bit about her medical history, as if ___that_ meant anything. I passed them off to the people who might know, and after that... not a word." Ms. Farron shifted her weight, putting her hand on her other slender hip. "Now it's my turn to ask. Are you going to help me? Because I won't waste another minute here if you won't."

___And go to another P.I.? _Hope wanted to ask, but no, that couldn't be right. He had the distinct impression that Ms. Farron would simply pursue the answers herself if no one else came to her aid. Which only made him wonder why she bothered with him at all. Making a person your "last resort" was a curious decision - especially when such faith rested in a veritable stranger. Hope couldn't fathom her faith in his abilities, not when such a loathed source had encouraged her to seek them out.

"I'll gladly help you, Ms. Farron," he said. "Just... one more question, if you don't mind."

"What is it?"

Hope watched her grew very still and straight, lowering her arm to her side and tightening her posture. He knew the sign of a fight when he saw one: this was the tension before the impulse to throw a punch kicked in. Her sharp wariness was a presence he could feel down to his bones, like a knife twisting in, as if the emotion was all his to share. Hope folded his hands on his desk and looked at Ms. Farron steadily, waiting to see if she would relax after noticing him do the same. She didn't, so he shrugged. "Why are you trusting me with this, instead of taking matters into your own hands?"

"Do I seem the vigilante type?"

Hope was honest, speaking carefully. "You seem the sort of person who knows what she wants and how to get it done - and you also don't seem terribly fond of my working associate, who you admitted yourself is what brought you here today. This is less a judgment call and more a question of curiosity. I merely wondered."

Ms. Farron laughed once. "It was your name."

"What about my name?" he asked, unable to help himself. Resentment for his nomenclature was buried deep but an easy to resurface habit, like a jerking knee, a frayed nerve.

"Just... your name. It seemed like a sign that I should try one more thing before going all out."

He thought of the dream, the wound, the rose. The hand holding his, their race for freedom. ___We'd broken out, but at what cost? _"So do you believe in signs, Ms. Farron?"

She shook her head. "No, I believe in instinct. And that's why I'm here, Mr. Estheim."

"You can call me Hope."

Ms. Farron smiled for the first time. She resembled her sister when she smiled, and Hope cherished the similarity for a few dazzling moments before the expression faded and she hid the warmth away, returning to the frozen face and the rigid posture. "Is there anything else you needed to know?"

Hope reflected. "The names of the officers you spoke to would help, as a start," he said, an assumption already forming in his brain.

Ms. Farron said two names, then a quick farewell when Hope stayed silent. "I'll be in touch, Hope," she said before she left, quietly shutting the door.

Thirteen minutes passed before Hope moved from his chair with a sigh, scowling. ___Rygdea and Raines. _Snow had given him those names, just before he went off to find Serah, too. Hope pushed himself to his feet and pulled open the drawer, placing the handkerchief Ms. Farron had ignored back inside. He hesitated, noticing the scrap of cloth in the back.

___Do you believe in signs, Ms. Farron?_

___No, I believe in instinct._

Hope didn't have to think twice before he closed the cloth in his hand, tucking it up his sleeve for safekeeping. The burn on his wrist tinged, the warped and ugly skin languid with the traces of old pain. Memories were funny that way.

* * *

As I'm playing with this AU quite a bit, here's some distinctions to make in terms of ages:  
Hope – 24  
Serah – 18  
Lightning, Snow – 21

It'll also eventually be HopeLight but for now it's basically just a slow burn friendship. So enjoy the ride, I guess? I'm also going to slowly work in the tagged characters and ships, so please look forward to their various appearances~

The rating will definitely increase probably up to M because of violence, which anyone familiar with the Bioshock series should understand why. I'll be sure to post appropriate warnings when that comes, naturally.

Please forgive the rather "on the nose" and unsubtle nature of the title. I promise it won't be as ridiculous once the story plays out - I also couldn't really think of one I liked better! So there you have it.

Thanks for reading! I'll update again soon.


	2. Those Who Cling to the Hanging Edge

"If you can't come in from the cold, then you gotta grow ice over your heart." – Martin Finnegan

* * *

Rygdea was not a hard man to find, just a difficult one to understand once his mouth opened. ___Heard from a friend that there's a whiskey filter on him more often than not, _Snow had said weeks ago, before seeking the man out himself and disappearing after his fiancee. ___Not that it always gets him talking, but there's no point in me not trying._

The Guardian Corps headquarters had been Hope's first destination, visited some few minutes after Ms. Farron's departure. Rygdea was recently promoted from a beat cop to a detective, acting as Raines' right hand man though by the way Snow had heard of it, Raines was the one who did all the action of the pair. ___Rygdea's just meat in the room and a good waste of a suit. _Hope entered the Guardian Corps building with his sympathies already low, but they plummeted further to find out that Rygdea wasn't even at work. The Hanging Edge was where he ought to be, Hope was told, given instructions to the bar by a smirking little woman who sat at the Corps' front desk. Lumina Black, her nameplate said. ___Odd name, that._

"I guarantee that you will find Rygdea there, Mr. Estheim."

"He a loyal customer?" Hope asked her.

Lumina smiled. She looked for a brief second like Serah, like Ms. Farron, but there was a darker cast to her eyes, a fiendish glint on the edge of her mouth. Hope wondered if he projected the resemblance onto her face, unable to shake Ms. Farron from his mind. "A frequent fixture is more like. Stool's molded into the shape of him and he's got a tab longer than a Sanctum doctrine." Lumina hesitated. "What do you want with him?"

"Been out of touch with him for some time. A stupid quarrel, want to set it to rest." He paused. "What about Raines? Anything you can tell me about him?"

The woman's face spiked with undiluted suspicion. "I'm afraid that Raines has sequestered himself for personal reasons. You can't see him."

That sounded familiar. "A sabbatical?" Hope asked.

"That's the common word for it," she mused.

Hope smiled at her and passed along a few bills under the guise of shaking her hand. "I've got a friend in the same position. The spiritual sort, needs constant retreats of solitude in order to set himself to rights. I have no plans to disturb either man, Miss Black." He flicked his thumb pointedly over the edges of the bills and leaned forward, lowering his voice. "You ought to make use of this."

Lumina shoved the bills back into his hand and withdrew her own onto her lap, crossing her legs. "Save it. The quickest way to Rygdea's heart is to cut down on that tab of his."

She seemed too young to know a thing like that - of an age with Serah, if his assumption proved true. Hope wondered if she hoarded as much information as she shared. "I'm not after his heart. It's his brain I aim to pick."

"Then may the fates smile on your efforts. God knows they've never blessed ___his_."

Hope said goodbye and made a beeline for the Hanging Edge, a gin joint on the outskirts of the Bodhum pod where he lived. It was about an hour's trek from Eden, the main pod where he worked, also home to the Guardian Corps building. Most of Cocoon's respectable establishments could be found in Eden – it was the other pods that caused worry. It was a slow trip getting there, moving from one bathysphere to the next, though Hope been told that Cocoon Metro was the work of the future - a slow, steady, patient-testing future. But it gave Hope time to push aside the traces of the dream and focus on the task ahead.

The Hanging Edge wasn't silent when Hope arrived, but there was a distinct drop in conversation once he stepped under the lights and let the door swing shut behind him. He ignored it, as he did the stubbornly lingering traces of the dream, pale blood lights and rose wounds and that hand clinging tightly to his, as he strode over to the bar.

Rygdea was there, as expected, facial hair a dark smearing shadow on his chin that obscured half of his expression. He kept his glass close and the bottle closer, drinking long, indulgent sips. Hope joined him, keeping a single seat's distance between them. The bartender approached.

"Vodka rocks, and another round for my friend," Hope said, pointing to Rygdea. He was starting to sway.

The bartender scowled. "A real friend might chip in something more useful," he chastised, preparing Hope's drink. "Like a ride home - or a new liver."

"Didn't say I was his friend. Said he was mine." Hope paid his dues and waited, sipping steadily at his glass. The ice clinked, the smoke in the air stung, and the scar on his wrist was chewing at his nerves, both physical and patient-based. This case was setting up to be a nasty one. Superstition or instinct was kicking in. Hope wasn't sure what had set its teeth to him, but it had been nagging away at him ever since Ms. Farron showed up.

But the lady was gone, even though her effect was not, and Hope finished his first drink still rankled by her aftermath. He wanted to get this over with. He wanted to see her again.

Rygdea reached across to push his hand against Hope's shoulder, smirking wide. "Yuj says I got you to thank for the refill," he slurred.

The bartender - Yuj - gave Hope a stare that aimed to wound. He turned his back on the two men, scrubbing at stains only his eyes could see with a rag as blue as his hair. It would take more than a skewed look to unsettle Hope; he paid the man for the liquor he served, not for his looks.

"It wasn't charity," Hope said to Rygdea, cutting to the quick.

"___Man is a natural-born egoist, masquerading as an altruist_,'" Rygdea said, quoting Sanctum scripture. He worked hard to get the words out, his eyes narrowing into blurred, dark points. "Are you a God-fearing man, stranger?"

"I'm the sort of man who knows better than to discuss such topics where there's potential weapons at hand." Hope withdrew the photograph of Serah from his coat pocket and held it up, screening his gaze from the drunker man's face. "Tell me what you know about this girl."

"What's there to know?" Rygdea silenced a belch, puffing out his cheeks. "Me, I'm not exactly God-fearing myself. But I'm damn sure uneasy of men who call themselves that, though."

"Another round for the both of us," Hope said to Yuj, who looked as sour as the whiskey he was already pouring. "First one was out of kindness," Hope muttered to Rygdea, staring straight at the man who wouldn't look him in the eye. "This one's just impatient. I suggest you finish talking before I finish drinking."

Rygdea laughed and snatched the photo from Hope's hand. He waved it around, making the glossy miniature Serah bend and contort. "Dame must be tougher than she looks if she's got a little squadron of would-be bruisers rallyin' to her cause," he said.

Hope considered this. ___Who else is looking for her? Unless he means Snow. _"I couldn't say for sure. We've never met."

"Then you're better off," Rygdea said. "Forget her. Forget it all, the pretty face and the noble quest you've got all lined up to complete. Playing the hero only makes you a damn fool."

"'___Fools are not mad folks_,'" Hope said, his turn to recite scripture. He thought of Snow and something in the area of his heart began to ache, a twitch that belied just the smallest twinge of pity. ___No one knows heroes like that idiot. _ Hope hid his ache and spoke again."You share this pearl of wisdom with anyone else?"

Rygdea shrugged. "Some gorilla just as doll dizzy as you." He flicked at the photo, striking Serah's smile. Hope's hand tightened around his glass. "Grilled me 'bout a month back over this broad here. Showed me the same photo, only it had him in. It takes a pretty big set of brass to mouth off to me, so I ended up telling him what I knew - out of respect, see. He was dumb enough to thank me for it." Rygdea wet his lips and his throat with his whiskey, talking fast, keeping an eye on the level of Hope's glass. "Man must have been a few screws loose to a set if he's chasin' a girl like that."

"And where about did he chase her to?"

The drunker man shook his head. "Damned if I can remember now. Me an' Raines already wrapped her case all up as young love striking deaf and dumb, so to see the Romeo of the pair waltz in asking questions... Knocked us for a loop."

Hope wondered if Rygdea wanted his sympathies. He had already left such feelings behind at the door to his office, long before he left for this errand. His hands were still cold from the dream. Hope doubted there was anything that could warm them.

"A loop you seemed content to ignore." Hope took the photo back before Rygdea could inflict any more damage to it. "Such things have a habit of becoming nooses."

"My conscience is clear," Rygdea grunted.

"Or garrotes, if you prefer."

Rygdea glared, twisting in his seat to face Hope dead on. "Who set you up to threaten me, pretty boy?"

Hope didn't move. "A client with more concern than you ever gave to this girl." Hope shook his drink. "Getting a little low here."

Rygdea grumbled, let out a few curses, shook his head. Hope didn't relent. "Pay off the tab and I'll talk."

"Talk and I'll see if what's heard is worth picking up your debts." Hope finished his drink and pushed the glass closer to Yuj, who had given up all pretense of not listening and was staring at them both with deer's eyes.

"'___He that dies pays all debts_.' Another bit of scripture for you, kid." Rygdea's voice had reached a state of misery Hope hadn't expected, but should have seen coming all the same. Drink does that to even the cruelest of bastards in the end. "I'm as good as in the grave for what I said to Romeo. The Sanctum's gotta know by now. Singin' to you would just be the coffin's final nail."

"Then start talking," Hope said, unconcerned. "And strike true."

It took Rygdea a few minutes to get the words out, the sentences running together with both the effort and the alcohol sludging his system. "Heard she got hauled in by one of them Sanctum thugs - them what overlook a wolf for the harmless lamb he's after. They don't call their work charity either. To them it's holy and just. But to me, it's just Reapers who put the share crops into Orphan's Cradle hoping to make baby-dolls outta them." Rygdea hiccuped and ran the back of his hand over his mouth. "Much like the eggheads at the Academy almost twenty years ago. Were you even ___alive_ twenty years ago, pretty boy?"

"I was," Hope said, listening close.

"That pair, Nabaat and Rosch, said they were lookin' hard to find 'God's blueprint in the worthy man...'" Rygdea's voice faded as Hope remembered.

___Science is but the slow revelation of God's blueprint. _Hope could clearly hear these words, but could put no face to the speaker. The phrase seemed to reach out to him as if from a dream, similar to the ones with the wound and the clawing, desperate hand that held onto his, racing to freedom. His heart froze and he closed one of his hands into a fist to stop the fingers from shaking, to stop anyone from noticing.

Rygdea slammed his hand down on the bar, rattling the glasses all along the dark wooden strip. "Bullshit. That's what it was. Fear-mongering bullshit. Different ways to the same end, if you ask me - all that's changed is whose backs get broken in the effort."

A long silence followed this announcement. Hope tried several times to speak up, to ask a question, to make a comment, but he killed the words every time.

It didn't matter in the end. Before long, Rygdea let out a loud, jarring snore and slumped forward across the bar, asleep.

Hope paid what he could of Rygdea's tab, leaving enough for himself to tip Yuj as he passed by. "Get him a private ride back home," Hope said, nodding to Rygdea. "The liver might be harder to come by, but this at least is in my budget."

Yuj nodded.

"One more thing," Hope began.

"I didn't see you here today," Yuj said at once. "Never saw you in my life. Far as I know, Rygdea spent the past half hour talking to himself."

Hope laughed. "Nice cover. Used it before?"

"A woman named Lightning had to teach it to me just last month."

"Doesn't seem like you learned very well if you're telling me about it."

"The way I see it, I'm not telling you something you don't already know." Yuj collected what remained of Hope and Rygdea's drinks and chucked them beneath the bar, keeping his eyes away from Hope's cutting gaze. "There's only one person left in this city who could care about Serah now that Snow's up and vanished, too. And you're definitely not it."

"I don't follow."

"No, but you listened. And she's what brought you here today." Yuj sighed and looked up. "Look. Light would never give up on her sister, even if it meant she had to rely on someone else to find her. Stands to reason you'd be here because of her."

"Light... you mean Ms. Farron?"

Yuj smirked. "I would have said it if I did. Same face, but a whole different kind of woman. Now get gone, before he wakes up." Yuj pointed to Rygdea.

Hope stood up but wasn't ready to leave. "You buy what he said about the Cradle?"

"I ___rent_ the words of a man like Rygdea, I don't put gil to them." Yuj paused, tapping his thumb on the edge of the bar. "But he isn't the first to talk that way. Last I heard from Snow weeks back, he was on the same trail."

"How did you know Snow?"

"Strays gotta stick together," Yuj said with a sharp tone. "That's a doctrine the Sanctum ___won't_teach you. Had to learn it ourselves."

Hope nodded. "When I find him, I'll point him back in your direction."

"It'd be appreciated," Yuj said. He almost waved Hope off but he stopped himself from completely the too friendly gesture.

Both men knew where the rest of that sentence was headed. ___If there's anything left to find._

Hope left. He was halfway to the closest bathysphere when he noticed that he wasn't walking alone. Someone was following him - someone who didn't mind letting him know they were there. The scar on his wrist twinged like a little heart stuck beneath the damaged skin. He tugged out a part of the bloodied cloth and ran his thumb along its edge, his hands growing warm, the vise in his chest unwinding. He'd last felt this way when Ms. Farron showed herself. ___Signs or instinct? _He ought to decide where to put his own faith.

Hope waited until she joined him in the glow of the neon haze from the distant Nautilus pod, its pink lights washing out her rose-colored hair and pale eyes. They twinkled at him in the dark. He almost smiled. "Is this Ms. Farron I'm talking to, or is this Lightning?"

She smirked. "That depends."

"On what?"

"On which one will be happier to hear what you've got to say."

"I'm not too familiar with the Misses yet, and that'd make the other girl all but a stranger. It's a tough call."

Ms. Farron accepted this with a nod. She gave Hope's arm a pat, attempting comfort, achieving only confusion. Her touch shouldn't feel so familiar to him; Hope shouldn't mourn its loss when she moved her hand away. "Then stick around a while, Hope. It's time you and met got better acquainted."


	3. Fathoms and Focus

"Love is just a chemical. We give it meaning by choice." - Eleanor Lamb

* * *

Ms. Farron kept talking as they walked to the bathysphere station, passing by clusters of couples and chatting friends who murmured all too loudly about Sanctum doctrines and scandalous gossip. "How about the Sweet Tooth?"

"What about it?"

"For where we can go to talk. Friends of mine run the place, over in Nautilus pod."

___Friends of Ms. Farron or Lightning _? "I just left a bar," Hope began.

Ms. Farron laughed, low and soft. "Oh yes, I know. I smell it on you. You got a rule against bar hopping?"

"No rule. Just a personal preference." Hope paused. "I'm willing to make an exception tonight," he added.

"For Ms. Farron? Or Lightning?"

"For whichever lady walked into my office earlier today."

Ms. Farron regarded him with a scalpel's precision and a smile just as sharp and bright. "Follow closely, Hope. I aim to get there before midnight."

* * *

Each bathysphere was a small and intimate affair but Ms. Farron kept her distance from Hope all the same, choosing to peer out the round little viewing glass instead of at him properly. Hope wondered what in particular may have caught her gaze about the outside scene. ___Only newcomers care about the scenery. Newcomers and romantics, _he corrected himself, thinking wistfully about Snow.

In a different mood with a different mind, Hope supposed he might take the time to appreciate Cocoon's bizarre beauty, its perpetual twilight and the constant wonder that came with living among life undersea, unseen by the surface. But his thoughts stopped themselves before going very far; such romantic ideals never lived long in Hope's mind. Death and loss and disappointment were a trio of natural predators when it came to joy, and Hope had his fair share of them all.

The minutes passed and Ms. Farron still made no move to speak. Hope had to think of her words instead, to block out the chatter of the people he'd rather not think of at all. He remembered what she had said hours ago in his office, about her sister: _she's all I have left____. _Hope almost envied that. He had no one left. No family. No friends, not anymore. Hope wondered at the tragedies Ms. Farron suffered, how they may have shaped or broken her in turns. She was an orphan, obviously. Unwed, due to the absence of a ring on her finger. Neither of which were automatic tragedies in themselves – he had seen the damage parents and partners could do to someone, both in professional and personal experiences.

"It's pretty," Ms. Farron said, breaking through his thoughts, pointing to the scenery outside the window. Hope was but a ghost over her shoulder in the glass.

"It distracts from the city well enough," Hope grunted.

Ms. Farron propped her hand on her hip in the fast-becoming familiar pose, and considered Hope's pale reflection. "What made you want to be an investigator, Mr. Estheim?" she asked, slipping into formalities. She still didn't turn around.

"It wasn't always the plan," he said, turning to glance at the bathysphere's other window. The darker side, with the sickly green depths made visible in a wider stretch, uninterrupted by the buildings and glass domes of residential pods. Their lights twinkled like lanterns guiding the lost home. Sea life scuttled and swam and darted across Hope's point of view as he fell back into the undertow of his thoughts. The world carried on, even fathoms deep, unseen, unconcerned, unmoved by the lives of humans struggling inside.

He put a hand to the glass and chuckled once, low.

"Something funny?" Ms. Farron prodded, tilting her head. He looked at her own ghost over his shoulder.

Hope shook his head. "No."

Hope ___could _ be romantic sometimes - if the thought process soon turned humbling. He had little room in the cramped squalor of his life for such fragile fruits of optimism to take shelter. The bloody scrap of cloth was his life's quota, as far as that sentimental theme was concerned.

_Speaking of..._Hope had forgotten to tuck the scrap away. It seemed to burn like a hand-held flame, catching Hope's eyes and drawing his mind back to misery and other useless ephemera.

"That's a very long pause, Mr. Estheim."

"It's a complicated matter."

"I've got time. You see me going anywhere?" Ms. Farron rapped her knuckles on the window, turning to peer at Hope and not his ghost. "I'm all ears."

Hope considered how candid he ought to make his answer. "Like I said. It wasn't always the plan. But the world had other ideas for what I ought to be, and some quick decisions had to be made. Living the way I did, you pick up a set of skills and talents that leave you with a limited list of career choices. In the end, investigating was the last stop of respectable work I could hope to have." There was a small moment of silence. "And Snow may have helped convince me in the end," he added.

Ms. Farron's eyebrows twitched. "He seems rather skilled in talking people into doing just about anything," she said.

"How well do you know Snow, Ms. Farron?" Hope asked, refusing to change the tense of the question.

She shrugged. "Not well enough. We never had a proper tete-a-tete, but I saw how my sister changed around him. I saw the young girl I had raised for over half my life turn into a young woman who felt she barely needed me. I saw her take risks, and make more mistakes than she ought to, mistakes she should know better than to even try."

"Sounds like she was just growing up," Hope said.

Ms. Farron went still. "Let's both of us make a promise to each other, here and now: We stay clear of voicing unsolicited opinions about our respective darlings."

"Snow is not a darling," Hope snapped.

"You two seem awfully close."

"Strays gotta stick together," Hope said, repeating what Yuj had told him, a phrase Snow himself had used several times throughout their own friendship. "Snow never had what I would eventually lose. It was almost too easy to bond with him about that kind of lack."

"What kind?"

"Family. A home."

The bathysphere reached its destination and they emerged, one after the other. Ms. Farron pushed aside some of the errant strands of hair that had slipped over her eyes and looked up the wide, checkered path to their left. "Sweet Tooth's just down there a ways. How often do you come to Nautilus, Mr. Estheim?"

"It's just Hope, remember? And not often - not now. Palumpolum's more my speed."

Ms. Farron chuckled. "That quaint little death-trap?" she mused. "I had you pegged as a more exciting man than that."

"On what grounds?"

"Instinct," she said. She reached up to tap two fingers against his forehead, pushing him gently. "And your eyes. Not to mention the company you keep, and your job choice. It's quite the list, really."

Hope felt almost flattered that she had studied him so intently, though he wondered when she managed to accomplish such things. "The only company I keep is Villiers," Hope said. "And as I seem to recall you just asked for a moratorium on our darlings."

Ms. Farron accepted this rather awkward call to change topics with grace and a sharp, surveying eye. "One more comment," she said as they walked, side by side with about a foot between them. Hope couldn't help but notice he was taller than her, even with the heels of her boots adding an inch or two to her height. "If you'll indulge my curiosity for a bit, Hope."

"Go on, then." When she phrased it like that, how could he say no?

"You say that you and Snow both lacked family, but to hear you speak of him creates an image of ties as thick as kin. You're as fond of him as I am of my sister." Ms. Farron blinked. "And that's all," she finished.

Hope flexed his hands at this compliment, whereas the younger him might have visibly squirmed. "That's kind of you, Ms. Farron."

"I don't know if honesty should be labeled something so tender. You just lucked out here, Hope."

"In any other time by any other person I would be inclined to agree. We almost there?" Hope asked, passing beneath adverts for the Sweet Tooth, drawing his mind back to their destination. _See the chanteuse as sweet as her name - Vanille LIVE! only at the Sweet Tooth!_

"Almost. Now it's your turn."

"Turn to what?"

"To ask ___me _ a few probing questions. I've been carrying this conversation since we met up."

"I... hardly know where to begin," Hope murmured.

"You can start with my other name."

"Fair enough. Why Lightning?"

"Have you ever seen lightning before?" Ms. Farron asked, stopping beneath a large, bronzed statue of one of the Sanctum's head men. ___THE PRIMARCH IS THE ULTIMATE PARENT, _the plaque said. Hope tried not to look at it, but its dark, glossy figure loomed large over Ms. Farron like a gargoyle.

"I have. Is that your only answer?"

Ms. Farron shook her head. "No. Lightning hits fast - it strikes you, blinds you, then it's gone. It's a force of nature you cannot prepare yourself for... you can only endure it." Ms. Farron lowered her eyes to the checkered floor and stared at that for a long while.

"What charm is there in being so lethal?" Hope had to ask. He had never took much pleasure in the violence his job often called for, though he had a particular skill in alluding to it with clever threats and ill-received messages. It surprised him to see this young woman have such a taste for it, not because of her gender but because she spoke of it as one might a masterly crafted symphony or a portrait. War as a bloody art.

"Who said it's about charm?" Ms. Farron countered, snorting. "A girl has to learn how to stand her ground, fight her own battles - she has to learn how to fight in this world, period. If she can't protect herself then she ought to at least fight to protect someone else." Ms. Farron chewed on the edge of her lip. "I suppose one might call it a focus."

"A focus?" Hope echoed, his stomach clenching at the word. He wished they'd move away from this statue. It made him uneasy.

"A sort of end game you set for yourself. Living without a goal isn't much of a life at all. It's a kind of..."

"Lost, drifting existence," Hope finished.

Ms. Farron looked impressed. "I see you're of a kindred mind."

"Or just learning how to guess at your own." They began to walk again, leaving the bronze mammoth behind.

Hope could see the large, neon pink sign for the Sweet Tooth at the other end of the path, nestled between a fur boutique and a jewelry shop. He also noticed that there were less and less men in this part of Nautilus, and that the women he passed were eying him askance, gazes sharpened by the winged tips of their dark eyeliner.

Ms. Farron waved away a cloud of smoke from a cluster of women they passed, coughing once, turning her head so she was facing Hope. He noticed at this angle, with the shifting of her blouse's collar, that there were faint edges of a red scar reaching up from a deeper part of her chest. He looked away fast, but his thoughts lingered on the scar.

Ms. Farron kept her hand moving, sliding it around Hope's arm and patting his elbow with soft, steady taps. "Do you want to see it?" she asked.

Hope nearly stumbled. "See what?" he asked, defaulting to dumb rather than thinking it through.

"Do you want to see me become her?" Ms. Farron eyed Hope askance, sensing his tension, his hesitation.

He answered quickly. "Yes. Sure, please."

Ms. Farron nodded, smiling a little.

The change was immediate, like a light had simply snapped on with a casual lift of her long, delicate fingers. Ms. Farron's face went hard, still. There was a nearly imperceptible tightening to her lips, the muscles tensing all around her jaw and up through her cheeks. Her eyes narrowed without the skin responding - it was the gaze itself that focused. Hope sensed the change in her eyes, a cold and sharp transformation that put a shield down between what she saw and what she let others see. Her hold on him became a solid, dead weight and her footsteps fell harder, stomps meant to rouse up a rabble. Her shoulders were down and back, neck long - every fiber and pore of her, down to her core, promising murder if crossed, bruises and breaks if challenged.

Hope's scar began to throb at his wrist as he watched her, the mangled tissue twitching like an exposed nerve, making his whole arm go numb in her grasp. His head felt like a stump after an ax had been working at it, and as Hope watched Lightning replace the woman at his side the rose-wound from his dream appeared again. ___No... No, not this... not here... _"Please..."

White and pale red edges tore a hole into what he saw to what he had seen for years and years every time he shut his eyes. A long hallway with dark floors and dim lights, doors large and thick metal slabs closed on either side as he ran, terrified of the time when the doors would open, too scared to consider who might be waiting on the other side. His head spun and his eyes burned and there was blood running down the hand he held so tightly in his, blood smearing over his lips, too, burning in his nose as it gushed forth.

"Mr. Estheim...? ___Mr. Estheim _!" Lightning had resorted to the formal but her voice cracked, panic breaking through the mask as she seized Hope in her arms and sank down with him. " _Hope _!"

For a moment Hope thought she sounded worried. But they weren't family. She couldn't be. He didn't know her from Eve, nor she him from Adam.

___But I know her... I still know her. _The way Hope knew, as a child, how to fear the dark. The way he knew, while growing up, what the crush and rush of something softer fools might call love felt like. It was a bone-deep knowing, the kind that takes root in the soul and marrow of a man. ___Instinct._

* * *

When Hope opened his eyes again, he was on his back staring at an unfamiliar ceiling___._

The ceiling was painted a dark, deep red, with streaks of golden curls and little somber, smiling moons mixed in. He almost smiled. Whatever was beneath him was soft and smelled like vanilla. It made his teeth ache.

Hope thought he could hear someone crying, but it was a muted noise and too far away besides - it could be laughter, for all he knew. He tried to sit up and found a hand dart out to grip his shoulder.

A woman's voice said, "You finally comin' around now? Or are you gonna make Light wait another hour 'til she can get a clear word out of you?"

It wasn't an accent he recognized, though Hope remembered hearing such emphasis and tones only in passing, usually far from the Bodhum or Palumpolum pods. "Who... are you?" he mumbled, knocking the hand off him, holding up his own to support his pounding, aching head.

"The woman whose bed you're sleepin' on, pretty boy."

"Don't call me that."

She laughed. "Using some manners couldn't hurt, y'know. But have it your way - I'm through with babysitting." The woman stood up. Hope turned his head and caught a quick glance at her as she left. She had lightly tanned skin and dark, long hair with streaks of grey already mixed in, betraying the youthfulness of her face and appearance. She winked at Hope as she passed.

"I'll send Light in for you," she said, tapping the frame of the door with a manicured hand. "Try not to bleed on the sheets in the meantime, though. Vanille just changed them. Unless you want us to bill you for the dry cleaning?"

Hope took a quick second to think about this. Ms. Farron hadn't paid him yet, and it wasn't a cash sum he could spare. "No, thank you," he said.

The woman cocked an eyebrow and grinned. "So you listened! What a change in tone. I can see why she likes you. Light's always fond of fast learners."

Hope watched the woman go, his face burning red.

Ms. Farron - Lightning, ___Light_, whoever she wanted to be right now - entered the room and closed the door behind her. Her face was pale, the whites of her eyes a fading red. Hope wondered if it was her tears he overheard.

She approached the bed and took a seat, the one the dark-haired woman had just left. Ms. Farron crossed her legs, folded her arms, and settled back. "You all right, Hope?"

"I'm getting there," he said, his voice quiet. He felt reproached under that gaze. "And what about you?"

"You scared me half to death," she said, her voice bitter. "One moment you're walking just fine and the next, you're a bloody, twitching mess. Is there something I should know about you?"

___Probably. Lots of things. _Hope wondered where to start.

"Let me make this easy for you. Are you well enough to continue with this investigation?"

"I am," Hope said, his voice firm. "I aim to be, just - give me some time."

"How much time?"

"Not but a few minutes to clean up and get moving again." He knew they shouldn't have tried to have a little fun, that they shouldn't have sought out a brief distraction. ___Getting better acquainted... _Hope almost wanted to laugh and spit. ___Figures it would all go to shit. _"And I won't leave without thanking your friend for her hospitality."

Ms. Farron's mouth twitched as if she were fighting a smile. Her next words were anything but sweet. "I saw that mark on your wrist, when I carried you in here."

Hope pulled a wad of bedsheets into his fist, gripping the silken cloth tight. "It's just a burn scar," he said, beginning the old lie again. "Nothing special." He shook his head, closed his eyes, and counted to ten. When he opened them again, he turned to look at Ms. Farron, hoping to continue with his tale. But she was unbuttoning her blouse.

"What are you doing?" he asked, stunned.

"Showing you something," she snapped. "Calling you out on your lie." Ms. Farron's fingers stopped at the fourth button, enough to reveal the whole mess of the scar Hope had espied earlier. It was the same color and bitter mangled lump of flesh that was on his wrist, only hers was in the shape of -

"A rose." Hope's hands began to shake. The rose tear of his dreams, the rose wound that opened up into lights and freedom. "But mine's..."

"A star." Ms. Farron waited, letting Hope get a good look at her scar before she buttoned her shirt up again, chewing on the edge of her lip. He noticed her cheeks were tinged pink, and he thought briefly of comforting her. He hadn't gaped at her for any reason besides shock. "I know, Hope. I see a tear like it all the time in my dreams. Something tells me you probably see one, too."

Hope's breath came fast and uneven. "What is this about?" he asked, breathless. "You saying we have some kind of history? A connection?"

Ms. Farron tightened her hands into fists and put them on her lap, one on top of the other. "I told you I believed in instinct, remember? Not luck, not fate - just pure, human will. I said it was your name that caught my interest, after Snow passed along your line of work and spoke highly of your skills." Ms. Farron shook her head and laughed miserably. "Now I hardly know what to think. Maybe it was meant to be all along."

Hope reached out to place a hand on top of her clenched, shaking fists. She tensed but didn't move, her eyes going wide instead of narrowing into slits. He thought of saying something, of trying to dredge up some bits of comfort or solace, but the minutes passed and the words refused to budge or move from his brain, so he continued to hold her hand, staring into her eyes while she looked down at the floor.

"In your dreams," Hope began, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb, "do you ever see yourself running down a long hallway, trying to reach a light at at the far end?"

"All the time," Ms. Farron said quietly. "But the dream always stops just as me and the boy try to make it through - I never see us getting out."

"Well, we must have. We had to. Because we're here now."

"For all the good that does us," Ms. Farron said, snorting. "Cocoon's not exactly what I had in mind when I thought about freedom all those years ago in the labs."

Hope tried to push his memory, but it was like testing the resilience of concrete. It wouldn't bend, it wouldn't yield - he could only remember the hallway, the doors, the rose light and the desperate flight for freedom. "I don't remember any labs," he began, cautious.

"Then you're better off than I am, Hope. Because I remember them all the time." Ms. Farron's eyes became glossy, her voice like lead that dropped down to sink the growing warmth between them. "I remember everything." She shut her eyes, and Hope's heart ached, wondering what she was seeing now, a ghost of him like a pale reflection in a glass, or all the blood and fear that crept out from their shared pasts, tainting the pair of them in the here and now.


	4. Cruelty Called Kind

"An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure." – Jeremiah Fink

* * *

Hope took his cue from Ms. Farron – "Lightning, call me Lightning, or even Light now, if you don't mind" – and kept mum about their shared scars and freedom dreams that were revealed a half hour prior. They stayed quietly in each other's company since the big reveal, Hope trying every few minutes to get the words out, to ask a question, to check how she felt – but they continued to die en route to his mouth.

The chauntese featured on the posters leading to the Sweet Tooth, whose upper apartment Hope was brought to after he passed out, interrupted this awkward silence, squeaking and apologizing incessantly. "I only wanted – I didn't mean – Fang asked me to..." She looked desperately between Lightning and Hope, at their joined hands. "Oh, I'm _sorry, _Lightning."

"It's all right, Vanille. Settle down." Lightning brushed off Hope's hand and stood up, offering him her back where she had just granted her confidence. "It's nothing to write the Sanctum about," she added, teasing the shorter woman.

Vanille smiled shakily and gave Hope a friendly little wave. "It's... nice to meet you Mr. Estheim. Any friend of Lightning's is a friend of mine – and Fang, too." She had the dark-haired woman's accent – _Fang? More to the point than a name like Lightning, I guess _– and a softer kind of charm, showcased by a bright smile and glimmering eyes. Yet much like when Hope had sensed some level of a farce in Lightning's softness hours ago, back in his office when they first met, Hope had an idea that Vanille's sweetness and reticence was in part a ruse. He kept a critical eye on her but couldn't stop himself from returning her smile.

"Sorry about the sheets," Hope said. "Fang warned me not to bleed on them again."

Lightning's mouth twitched, as if she were itching to say something clever. But she kept her wits to herself and spoke quietly. "What did Fang ask you to do, Vanille?"

"To check on you – let you know that when you're up to it, she's got something important to tell you." Vanille twisted her fingers and gave Lightning a skewed, sly look. "From... a friend."

A message was clearly being delivered. Hope felt much like an outsider peering inside.

"I'll be just a minute," Lightning told her.

Vanille took the cue and left, waving again as she trotted off.

"Could have knocked," Lightning mumbled, shaking her head once Vanille had gone.

"It _is_ her room, after all," Hope pointed out. "Or Fang's. She seems familiar with it, either way." He tugged at the sleeve cuff down over his wrist, checking to see if the scrap of cloth was still there. "How do you know these two?"

"We go back a ways, to the days after... after my mother died. The two of them lost family of their own; they're all they have left in the world." Lightning leaned against a vanity stand, tapping her fingers over the lacy, lilac cloth that covered it. "They knew what I was going through. They knew how to help me with Serah." Lightning looked up and watched Hope adjust his shirtsleeves, curiosity piqued. "Guess it's like you and Snow, and all those other strays he went around collecting."

Hope listened with only half an ear, his panic rising. He couldn't find the cloth and his building, shameful fear made his throat close. _Ask her. Just ask her if she's seen it. Just... ask..._

Lightning sighed and pointed to one of the nightstands flanking the beds. "Your bloody strip is over there. Vanille wanted to wash it."

Hope listened closely to her tone. "Wanted to – but didn't?"

Lightning shook her head. "I wouldn't let her. May have gotten a little angry about it, too. She's not usually that hesitant around me." Lightning pushed herself up from the vanity and looked at Hope closely. "You're free to wash and clean up while I go see what they want. And Hope? Don't... I mean..." she lost her words.

Hope snatched the cloth strip off the nightstand and looked at her, patient, sliding off the bed and standing with it between the pair of them. He clutched the newly retrieved cloth tightly in his hand, taking comfort in its familiar, threadbare softness. "You're free to finish that thought," he suggested.

She glared at him briefly. "... Don't leave until I'm done. Whatever message they've got to pass along can't take more than a few minutes. I'll be sure of that." Lightning stomped from the room and closed the door with a harsh snap. Hope thought he saw her blush. He followed her from the room and glanced around.

There was a washroom in a small, converted closet just outside of the bedroom. Hope submerged his hands and forearms in the puddle of water he let stream from the tap. He scrubbed at his face, scratching free the flaking remains of his nose bleed, rubbing exhaustion and unease from his eyes. Part of him longed for the comfort of his home, the unimpressive little apartment he would sometimes share with Snow, before Serah had come around. The flat was no palace; it required more up-keeping costs than it deserved if Hope was being honest, but it _was _home. His home, the first he rightly made for himself after his father...

Hope buried his face in the water now and exhaled, forcing the air out and making a real rioting racket of bubbles. When his face was free and toweled off in a plush, baby pink washcloth, Hope took a look at himself in the mirror.

Lightning said she remembered everything. _The labs... What could she mean? _Hope closed his eyes and tore at his memory, imagining the rose wound, the light, the hand wrapped inside his... There had to be something left in the dream that he had overlooked, that he had simply ignored. Knowing what name and face to put to his companion who struggled with him after almost twenty years of groping at the ignorant dark made the process simple, but painful.

_It was Lightning's blood in my hand, mingling with mine – the scrap I've clung to all this time came from her dress. _Hope watched a muscle in his jaw twitch in the glass. _The hallway, those terrible doors... She said it was a lab. But where? The Academy?_

"Science is the slow revelation of God's blueprint," Hope quoted, remembering his chat with Rygdea at the Hanging Edge. "It had to be the Academy. But I can't... see anything." He hit his hand against the side of the sink, swearing low, glad for the chance to talk to himself. He had to keep trying. There had to be something.

_Blue and white... the slow revolution of fans whirring, the static buzz of a distant generator. Cold glass that lets loose a prism of colors along the floor. _"There's a window... Bright golden sunlight bleeds through over the clouds – clouds?" Hope's nose stung again, the prelude to another hemorrhage. How could there be clouds? The Academy was underwater.

Hope couldn't think straight. He would have to get Lightning to share what she knew... If his body could stand the burden of knowing, that is.

Hope waited upstairs as long as he could stay patient, though he strayed closer to the sound of the women's voices after a few minutes of deliberating, narrowing in on Lightning's voice. Her low, almost bored tone cut through the alternating crescendo of Fang and Vanille's. He waited outside of the room the three had gathered in, not at all ashamed to eavesdrop.

"... knew you were rushing things a bit. You'd only just hired him, girl. Wait a week 'til you scramble a man's brains, yeah?"

"It's not like that, Fang. I'd never hurt him, even if we weren't... tied together like this." Lightning's voice. Hope was sure of it. "He's got no part in what happened at the Labs, or in Serah being gone. Even if he's pretty chummy with that idiot she's hung up on."

"Then why not go by yourself? You already got Lumina to keep an eye on him; she's better cut out for that sort of tricky tailing act, if you ask me."

Lightning's voice was a playful challenge. "Are you saying I can't be stealthy?"

"I'm saying you _weren't_, sunshine," Fang said. She paused. Hope heard the sound of a heavy glass clink down onto wood, suggesting at least one of them was drinking. "What's the sense in rushing this? Serah knows how to take care of herself – and you're only insultin' yourself by thinking otherwise."

"Excuse me?"

Fang laughed. "Who do you think taught her how to be smart, to be safe?"

Lightning said nothing. Hope heard Vanille stage whisper, "She means you did, Lightning." He couldn't help but laugh.

The game was up, clearly. Fang poked her head out into the hall and gave Hope a quick once-over. "C'mon in, then. Quit lurking." Hope had no choice but to follow after that.

The room was a small, crowded lounge with only two seats readily available. Hope followed Lightning's example and stayed on his feet. Fang rejoined Vanille on the couch and crossed her legs, stroking her chin with her fingertips. "Mind's made up, Light?" she asked, eying her.

"It is," Lightning said, nodding.

"And you're _sure _you don't want me to tag along?"

"No. I've got Hope to help me. Besides... with you two safe here, it'll give Serah something to come back to, in case anything goes wrong."

Vanille folded her fingers and bowed her head over the crossed knuckles, fretting visibly. Fang began to tap the toe of her shoe against the bottom of the coffee table. _Thud, thud, thud. _Her dress front heaved as she hitched a long weary sigh, looking at Lightning dead on, unblinking, all smirks and charm gone. Hope let them share a moment in silence before cutting in.

"What did you find out, Ms. Farron?" he asked. "You said there was a friend coming over with a message?"

"It's Light," she corrected, brushing her hair over her shoulder and shutting her eyes with a sigh. "And yeah, a source of mine dropped by with some new rumors – about Raines."

"Lemme guess. The source is... Lumina?" Hope asked, recalling the time he'd heard the name before. _Little golden name plaque on top of a small desk, next to a cracked flower pot. _"She was working the front desk at the Guardian Corps building – although she clamped up when I mentioned the man."

This didn't phase Lightning. "And yet she still let slip he was unreachable, didn't she?"

Hope scowled. "She did that on purpose," he realized after a pause. "Thinking I'd pass it along to you?"

"That's likely. Or that you'd take it upon yourself to go after Raines and forget about the drunk." Lightning shrugged. "Who knows the way that girl's mind works."

Something about the casual way she said this, combined with the look on her face and the lazy shrug of her shoulder, made Hope bristle, like ice had started growing along the back of his neck. "Just how many people are running around this city on your rescue mission?" he asked. "Any other P.I.'s I should know about? What about any other plants you know in Cocoon's law enforcement?" Hope glanced at Fang and Vanille. "And why not tell me sooner, the minute you petitioned for my help? This all seems like information I ought to know if I'm going to be of any use to you."

Vanille's eyes traced lines back and forth between him and Lightning. Fang looked amused and leaned her head on her chin, studying Lightning in silence. Either unaware of her audience or unnerved by them, Lightning's response was a struggle, frustrated and miserably honest. "There isn't anyone else. Not the way you see it, Hope. Lumina tends to her own business, which happens to involve collecting information on anyone she can. We've been in touch before, and she makes a point to maintain it when it suits her." Lightning's eyes darted up to meet Hope's. "And I told you before: you came highly recommended, Mr. Estheim. … Hope. Why would I waste time on an unknown model when the preferred solution is all but staring me in the face?"

Hope said nothing to this. He wondered why it mattered. He wondered why it should mean a thing. "What rumors did she drop off?" he asked, looking to Vanille and Fang, letting them know they could chime in if they wished.

But it was Lightning who spoke up. "Raines isn't taking a sabbatical. Not by choice, anyway. He's been asked to spend some time with the medics at the Sanctum due to his... condition."

"Condition?"

"A kind of sickness. Haven't got the name yet, but it's said to be bad enough to warrant quarantining the man. The more scandalous kind might call it a consequence of one too many bordello visits, if I didn't have it on good authority that Raines wasn't that sort of man. We're heading off to find out what caused his funny turn." Lightning reconsidered her words, her gaze softening as she stared at Hope's arm, his wrist, clearly caught in the memory of his scar. "Unless... you still need to rest?"

"I'll make it through, Light. Just stay close to me."

"I had no plans on wandering."

Vanille sighed dreamily. Fang shook her head. "Well, I can't let you all go off unarmed. Once you two get this gaga romance out of your system, you come downstairs and find me. Gotta open up the club now, anyway – might as well get the storage ready too, while I'm at it."

"Amazon's Arsenal back in business?" Lightning asked, her mouth twisting up at the edge.

"You bet, girlie," Fang said.

Lightning snorted. "I wish you'd change that name. It's awful."

"A name doesn't have to be clever for it to serve a point. Now keep your chin up. See you in a minute. Or a few." Fang tapped Vanille on the side of her leg and they stood up, filing out of the room and down the hall to thin, winding staircase that led to the club below.

"Is she always like that?" Hope asked once they were out of earshot, thinking back to Fang's departing words when she'd let Lightning in to see Hope.

"Like what?"

_Suggestive. Charismatic. A warm and heady rush like too much liquor taken in too fast. _"Nothing. Don't pay it any mind."

Fang's arsenal proved to be more impressive than Hope had anticipated. Shelves and mounted displays of a variety of knives, hand-held blades, hooks, and guns were meticulously cleaned and even decorated with hand-written labels. The same information was printed on them – model type, weapon details, descriptions of who it once belong to, and in some cases the names of the owner.

"How did you acquire all these, Fang?" Hope asked, impressed.

Fang grinned to see Hope's expression, clearly pleased. "Troublemakers what force their way into the Tooth some nights, thinking us ladies are easy marks. Plus friends of mine lookin' to store some delicate items for a while. I only ask as much as I need to know, and I don't need to know much if someone I care about's trying to ditch a weapon." Fang strode over to a display of knives and unlocked the case. "Ladies first," she said, waving Lightning closer.

Lightning approached – and then stopped, as if striking a wall. Her nostrils flared. She reached out and pulled a thick, wickedly molded knife from its place of importance on a velvet cushion. Flicked it open once. Snapped it shut along her thigh. "She left it here?" Lightning murmured, her voice low and like a fallen shard broken off from the whole.

Fang said nothing. Her eyes ticked across to Hope. "You see anything you like, sunshine, feel free to grab it," she said.

But Hope didn't move. "Light? You all right?"

"I'll be fine, Hope. Just... give me a minute."

Hope had no choice but to trust her word. He began to look at the cases of guns on the far wall, then to the display of longer blades the size of his arms, and prodded furiously at his memory. He should know what weapon to choose, what one would suit him best, but there was an unraveling sense of revulsion boiling in his gut that made him feel child-like, and useless._You're an investigator. You've handled at least a gun before... Haven't you? _But the memory of this lay undiscovered. Hope insisted it had to be there, but found no such thing.

"Hope?" Lightning put the knife into a sheath hidden along her thigh, and tugged the hem of her skirt back to its proper length just under her knees. She was at Hope's side in a few quick strides, peering up into his gaze, pale blue eyes searching his emerald own. "You okay in there?"

"I'm... My head is just... Light?" His voice broke on her name, a plea.

Lightning held onto his shoulder and squeezed, shaking him gently. "Hope? Get it together, yeah?"

"I've never fought before."

Lightning blinked, glancing over to Fang at this sudden announcement. "You sure?" she asked Hope, slowly turning her eyes back to him.

"Very."

"Not even once, for your job?" Lightning suggested, eyebrows raised.

"If I did then with a quickness I made myself forget."

Lightning's expression was full of regret. Her head began to shake, her hold on his shoulder slipping away. Like the memory, like her hand fading from his as the light in his dreams swallowed him – him, only, _him._

It hit him then. Only_ I got out... Lightning was left behind._

Hope put his hand over hers, holding it down, keeping her touch close. "I'll be all right. I _will_ be. Just... pick something for me and let's go. I'll trust your judgment."

Fang and Lightning conferred briefly before a conclusion was reached, and a weapon chosen. Hope watched with the kind of detachment one stares at a grim wound in the instant before the pain hits as Fang fit the device to Hope's arm. It was a hidden hook of some kind that slid seamlessly over his palm, blade out.

"It's even detachable, in case you want to cause some damage from a distance." Fang glanced only briefly at the star scar on Hope's arm before belting the last strap in and pulling the sleeve down. "You two take care now. Don't leave too bloody a trail behind ya. At least, not until you get Serah and Snow back again."

They didn't speak until the door to the Sweet Tooth was closed behind them, muffling the sounds of warm laughter and Vanille's cheerful song. "Why weapons?" Hope asked.

"Sanctum guards are armed," Lightning said with a shrug. "Why not us?"

Hope gently flexed his arm, feeling the cool metal of the hook against his skin. He couldn't argue with this point. "What story do you want to use for why we're after a quarantined man?" he continued, switching to a different topic.

"You planning on announcing yourself up front?" she asked, curious.

"A direct approach couldn't hurt," he offered.

Lightning was doubtful. "You sure about that?"

"As sure as I am that we wouldn't be able to use it as an alternative if we fail at sneaking in." Hope looked Lightning over carefully. "It's not like we don't have a valid reason to. You want to follow up on Raines' investigation of your sister, and it's my business to pick up his slack."

"That sounds... reasonable."

"No need to make this business bloody."

"Not until they make us."

"You expecting this to get ugly?"

"I'm expecting the Sanctum to do what they're good at: hide what they can, bury whatever and whoever gets in their way."

"'Must be cruel, only to be kind,'" Hope sneered.

"Sorry?"

"Sanctum doctrine." Hope averted his eyes from the bronze statue as they passed it again, heading back to the bathysphere. But a peripheral gaze alerted him to a strange change. The statue's head was angled to the right now, as if the stern, hollow-eyed man were watching them go. _Ridiculous. _Hope kept speaking, to keep the statue from his mind. "If this Raines fella is really sick..."

"You mean if this isn't just a Sanctum cover up?" Lightning interrupted.

Hope nodded. "Then there's no way they would keep him around for long. He's a health hazard, even if he is locked up real tight."

"What are you getting at?"

Hope began to use his hands to gesture as he spoke. "Cocoon thrives as long as its population stays fit. Look at the basics, Light. Underwater city, millions of people contained in pods? How long do you think any of us would last if the Sanctum didn't know one fail-safe way of handling potential outbreaks?" Hope answered his own question, his brain finally in some kind of focus for the first time since he woke up in his office. "We'd have been dead centuries ago. If you want my opinion, chances are they're planning to Purge him."

Lightning hissed low under her breath. "Then we need to get there. Now."

The bathysphere opened and Lightning stepped forward to walk on. Hope grabbed her arm, pulling her back. There was someone in the 'sphere already, pointing a gun into Lightning's face.

"Hands up and come quiet," Rygdea said. "Unless you want a face fulla lead."

* * *

**Note: **Next chapter's probably gonna be a violent/bloody one, so bear that in mind when I post it up next.


	5. Promises

**Note: **Rating bumped up to M for violence. If you want to skip it, CTRL+F after the in-text line break for the line "Lightning's voice broke the haze."

* * *

"What I've done... cannot be undone. I cannot stop... what I have put in motion.  
But perhaps... I can keep it from ever starting." - Elizabeth Comstock

* * *

The first thing Rygdea and the two mooks he met up with did when the bathysphere landed at the Eden pod station was split Hope up from Lightning. There was a struggle, the drive for freedom short-lived and cries for each other silenced by the appearance of more weapons being drawn. But it wasn't in Lightning to go quiet, nor was it in her to not drag down others in her fall. She cracked her fist against one man's nose, rammed an elbow in another's gut before sweeping her leg out to trip up the first. Lightning's assault was soon disrupted in the heat of its rampage when she glanced over to Hope to see how he was faring, only to find a gun kissing his temple.

"Keep that up if you wanna see how his brains match your skirt," Rygdea said.

Lightning's hesitation was all the advantage Rygdea and company needed. They took it, gladly.

Hope and Lightning lost the weapons they had only just acquired, Rygdea glaring hard at the one they pulled off Hope but keeping quiet about his thoughts. Their arms were bound and soon they were herded full of shoves and jeers along the conveniently empty path up towards the Sanctum's southern guard station. Hope wondered how many people they'd scared into staying indoors, if money had exchanged hands at all. Bars and restaurants had their lights on and windows unbarred, but Hope could see only in brief glances the quickly fading shadows of people lying low, scared but curious.

"Eyes front, you." A fist slammed against the side of his head. Hope's ear stung, bells ringing loud in his skull alongside the thought that at the very least they were being taken where he and Lightning wanted to go anyway. ___The only trouble is the company._

Rygdea wasn't walking with just any squad of armed goons. ___These are PSICOM, Sanctum military elite. _Hope thought he heard once, years ago, about a rumor involving Academy tests and PSICOM "volunteers," something to lend more weight to a series of endurance tests they were conducting. But the story had been buried as quickly as it had been unearthed, the Sanctum disavowing any heretic talk suggesting they would tamper or taint with God's purest creation, humanity itself. When asked to explain their motto - ___Science is but the slow revelation of God's blueprint_ - and further whispers that more than a few of their elite were believers of the outdated philosophy of finding God in a worthy man, the Academy had chosen silence as their only retort.

Hope kept his eyes on Lightning, as if his rapt attention could somehow keep her safe. Hope could see a long pink scratch along the side of her neck. Bruises were already blooming under her scraped, swollen knuckles. She was separated from him by a pair of armed guards and several feet besides, walking with her head high and her shoulders back, the very picture of confidence.

Hope's eyes were drawn up to another bronze statue, similar to the mammoth he had seen in the Nautilus pod. This one was a woman brandishing a thin sword, one hand raised to grasp the frames of her glasses. ___ALL ACTS IN THE NAME OF THE GREAT MAKER _was carved at the base of her statue, along with a name that made Hope's teeth grind. ___Jihl Nabaat._

He'd heard the name before. He just wasn't sure when.

Lightning's eyes burned like corroding acid as she glanced between Rygdea, who walked in front of her, and the goon who had walked up to her side, caging her in on the left. Hope wanted to believe that he could wish hard enough and have her understand the importance of playing cool, keeping quiet. The best kind of security to give your enemies was always a false one, someone had once told Hope years ago. It was a bit of advice he put to use quite frequently in his work, but a farce needed to run deep to go far. And Lightning was far too angry to manage that.

Hope quickened his pace, knowing it was a risk, and got into her line of sight for a few seconds. It was just long enough for Lightning to glance him over and nod once, her expression weakening around the edges, becoming kind. He wanted to warn her, to say something to her - but Rygdea was hitting him, yelling something, and soon Lightning was yelling, too. But Hope couldn't hear it all clearly. The bells in his head were ringing again.

* * *

When Hope opened his eyes again, he still clung to that little image in his mind's eye of Lightning's tender expression. Even after they'd arrived at the guard station and were blinded, separated properly with much kicking and protests to their different, grisly destinations Hope held the image in his mind, like a good luck charm. ___Like the scrap of cloth up my sleeve_.

The smell of beeswax and bleach lurked in the air, stinging down to the back of Hope's throat and making him cough. As Rygdea shoved Hope down into the uncomfortable wooden chair with long, thin gouges marked along the arm-rests and sides, Hope took a look around him. He understood the smells, at least. ___Bleach to clean the floors, candles to clean the air. _This realization made the rust-red stains beneath the chair seem less like signs of age, and more of abuse. He hoped Lightning was doing okay.

"You're going to want to make yourself comfortable," Rygdea suggested, settling down in a chair across from Hope. The room they shared was small and had once been painted white. It didn't look so pristine now. Rygdea tapped his hands on his knees and showed a grim smile.

"I don't plan to stay long," Hope said.

"No? Goin' somewhere?"

"Hopefully."

"Cute. Real cute, pretty boy." Rygdea struck out hard, kicking Hope's shin with the heel of his boot. "That why she hired you?" he asked, once Hope had gone quiet.

Hope considered all of the questions he could pose in response to this. None would help prevent what he knew was coming next, so he chose silence.

Hope probed his teeth with his tongue after Rygdea's third punch. Blood greeted him, but thankfully not a loose tooth. He spat on the floor, making it dirtier. "Is there something you wanted from me?" he asked.

Rygdea answered with an almost lazy slap on the side of Hope's head, hurting his ear again. "From you? No. No, not much. That little broad you were caught with, though? I imagine she'll talk." Rygdea laughed. "She'll talk plenty. Dames scare easy."

"Not this one," Hope said, his face aching, his split lip protesting every word he uttered. He spoke anyway. "No chance in hell of that."

"You sure about that?" Rygdea cracked his knuckles, stretched out a fist until the joints popped. "Nearly got her crying before."

Hope went very still. He listened, paid close attention to the expression on Rygdea's face, looking for the lie.

"You wanna know what I think?" Rygdea asked.

___You'll tell me anyway._

"I think she knows exactly where her sister is," Rygdea said. "And I think she's just covering up the tracks so the little tramp can go free."

"Not a very sound theory. Where's your proof?"

Rygdea kicked him again. "You wanna get smart with me, flatfoot? Answer me this: why'd she throw such a fit about her sister's medical records, huh? Why get her panties in a knot unless there was something she had to hide?" Rygdea paused, looked over his shoulder at the door. Hope had heard it too, and he began to panic.

"I only have your word on that," Hope said. Rygdea turned to him, which was Hope's goal. His panic waned. "And I'm in no position to take you on that alone."

"You think her word is any better? A bottom-feeding orphan like that?"

"Does what I think really matter to you?" Hope asked, glancing at the door. It was opening, but slowly. "You don't seem to like me very much. Feeling's pretty mutual now."

Rygdea laughed. "That's the thing about you, kid. You're not anywhere. No records. No citizen ID. No bank account. No trace of you, anywhere - you're nothing." He leaned in closer to Hope, his hand snatching at the younger man's hair and pulling it tight. "So where'd she dig you up from? You wanna explain that to me?" He pulled harder, baring Hope's throat and paused for a long time.

"You know... It doesn't matter where you crawled out of," he said at last. "You'll be heading back there soon enough. Both you and that little bitch, for what her sister did to my partner."

Hope felt cold steel at his throat.

Rygdea continued, his voice like a whisper. "Strange weapon you got on you, kid. Strictly Sanctum-issue, you know that? It's got no business being tainted by the likes of ___you. _Pretty boy. Nobody. Nothing." He pressed the blade down harder. "You know whose this was? You know who rightfully deserves this?" Rygdea began to cut. "Raines. My ___partner._"

It hurt. It hurt more than Hope knew how to understand. Teeth clenched and eyes shut and his mind screaming to be elsewhere, anywhere, ___nowhere _but here, Hope could feel every part of him that could still function snap up and disappear from the moment he was enduring. He hid inside a memory, hazy and the color of a pale rose tear. ___There's blue sky and pale white clouds. There's a golden angel glaring in the sunlight. The Moment... no, the Monument. An island just for a Monument. I can see it from my window if I stand on the books they give me, Rosalind and Robert Lute-_

Hope must have been screaming because his throat hurt inside as much as out. A hand pushed against his mouth, cutting off the sound.

The steel vanished, cold now gone but the warmth of the bloody wound was still there, trickling down Hope's neck and into his shirt, across his heaving chest. He was there in body but not in spirit: he was nowhere, he was nothing, the grey mist in between like the seconds before rising from a dream. ___I am... I thought... I was..._

"___Hope_!" Lightning's voice broke the haze. She had him in her arms and dragged him to his feet, alternating between shaking him gently and holding him close. "Hope, open your eyes!"

He did. Rygdea was still twitching on the floor, gurgling like an infant, a dark red pool blooming out from his back. Hope looked into Lightning's face, wanting to see only her. There were tears in her eyes to match Hope's own, and blood was smeared over her cheek. "You hurt?"

She shook her head.

"Hurt them?"

Lightning nodded.

"Good to know."

Lightning hid her face against Hope's chest and took a long, shaky breath. "The way you were screaming... I thought that -" she stopped. Pulled back. "But you're alive. I'm sorry."

"For?"

"It was my contact that got us into this - Lumina. Lumina sold us out to Rygdea after you two met up at the bar." Lightning looked like the murder she wished to deliver to the younger girl. "I got a few of the guys talking before I came to get you."

"How?"

"Knives are persuasive where kindness can't be," was all she said.

Hope coughed where he meant to laugh.

"We're getting out of here." Lightning swung Hope's arm over her shoulder, pushing the hand of the other to his chest, over his heart. "I think I heard one of them say something about a back up coming in to relieve them. They expected to keep us here longer, I'm guessing. We should head out and surprise 'em." Lightning paused. "And by we I mean me. You're in no shape to fight."

Hope shook his head, felt more blood moving out of the wound. He wondered how bad it was, how bad he ___looked_. "Didn't go too deep," he coughed.

"You're still bleeding, Hope," Lightning protested. "And I don't care how much your pride's gonna get hurt by it: I'm the one taking point here."

Hope finally managed a laugh. "Sounds... familiar."

"Hope, please stop talking." Lightning hit her hand once, lightly, against his chest. It was a warning that soon became a comforting stroke. "You're not doing too well tonight, you know. 0-2 on the blackouts. And you already lost some blood with that nosebleed. Remember earlier?"

Hope began to talk before he realized the words were leaving him, and not just churning around inside his brain. "I remember sky - clouds... A winged tower. Monument."

Lightning stopped walking.

"Rygdea... said I was nothing. No records. No ID. But... got these memories. Say otherwise." Hope spat blood on the floor of the hallway. He coughed for ten seconds too long.

Lightning began to walk again. They were almost at the door to the guard station Rygdea and his goons had dragged them through earlier. Her breathing came faster for the effort of half-carrying Hope.

"What am I, Light?" he asked, his voice breaking, the tears threatening to come again. "What... What ___am _I?"

"I told you already, back at your office," she said, her voice firm. "You're my last resort. And... you're the boy that's getting out of all this alive."

"With you this time. Not alone. Not just me." Hope gripped her shoulder with all of his strength. "I promise you, Lightning. I ___promise._"

They reached the exit just in time to see Rygdea's "back up" arrive. It was a familiar face that greeted them, brutally tall and broad in the chest and shoulders, with long, light blond hair that Hope among others had threatened to cut when he least expected it.

"Hope? ___Shit_. What happened?"

"... Snow?" Hope's voice was still a sheet in the wind.

"The one and only."

Lightning sighed. "I'm almost disappointed," she muttered, relinquishing Hope gently as Snow offered his support. "Why are ___you_ here?"

Snow shrugged and took a much easier hold on Hope than Lightning had managed. Hope was dimly grateful that Snow hadn't swept him up in his arms or carried him on his back, as he'd had to do in the past. ___Not for injuries in those times. Just drunkenness. _"Roughed up a few guards on my way over to the Tooth after I heard them talking about you two. They were nice enough to point me in this direction if I wanted to find out more."

Lightning looked ready to spit. "And you just ___happened _to find these two guards in the first place? You sure someone didn't tell you to go get them?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Snow asked, bewildered.

"Snow?" Hope repeated.

Snow and Lightning both fell silent.

"What is it, kid?" Snow muttered.

Hope cringed. Snow noticed, and there was a flash of fear in his eyes. It died fast, like most of what Snow felt and wanted to hide. "I'm older... than..." Hope tried to say.

But Snow got the hint. "Yeah, but you look younger to me. Pretty face and all," he said, laughing. "Not that you look too good now."

Hope coughed.

"Get some perspective, Snow. We need to get him to a Medic," Lightning insisted, her voice venom.

Snow was focused only on Hope, on his coughs and the attempts he made to smile at his friend.

"Glad you're back," Hope managed to say.

"Sorry to keep you waiting."

"You ___did_.. take.. your time."

"I always turn up in the end. Can't keep away a stray." Snow looked at Lightning. "We'll just need a few seconds. Not a Medic."

"Are you nuts?" Lightning demanded.

"Not really. Never seen this guy work his magic before, have you?"

Anyone but Lightning might have paused at Snow's charming, slanted grin. She only charged onward, fists clenched. "What the ___hell _are you talking about? He could die and you're wasting our time!"

Snow pulled off the glove from Hope's hand on the same as the arm where his star scar burned, and guided the long, trembling fingers to Hope's thoat. His hand closed over the wound there, pressing down hard over the blood and its source. "Didn't even think to ask, did you, Sis? Why I kept on pushing you to go find this kid to help you get Serah?" Snow asked, his voice low.

"Don't call me that," Lightning snarled.

"Not a kid," Hope said, frowning.

Snow just grinned as he watched Hope's breathing steady, as his hands grew still, tremors forgotten. "Things he can do are just unreal," he said, speaking to Lightning but not looking at her. "You just gotta give him some room and time."

A minute passed before Hope lowered his hand. Blood covered his fingers and made them sticky. He saw the star scar on his arm glowing bright and white, saw Lightning looking at it, too. He was sure she was going to be sick.

"We should get moving," Hope said, his heart caught in a trap the longer he looked at Lightning's face.

People began to yell. Snow swore and turned to take care of them, buying Hope and Lightning time enough to duck. She wouldn't let Hope touch her, cringing back and shoving him with the heels of her hands each time he tried to hold her close.

"Light?" Hope asked.

Lightning was staring at the pale scar Hope knew was on his throat in place of the former wound. Just like he knew it would only heal over and up soon, leaving nothing but a faint scrape behind. Lightning looked stony, cold, a perfect picture of the queen of ice the longer she held onto Hope's gaze. He wished she'd say something. Berate him, curse him, call him freak. ___Freak is better than nothing. Anything is better than this silence._

"Light... Please." He hated to beg but for her, in that moment, Hope would crawl. The woman in his dreams. The one hand that he never wanted to let go of. ___The one person left behind._ ___The light in the tower. _Hope's nose began to burn again.

Lightning forced his hand down gently. "Maybe I was wrong about you," she said, each word hitting Hope like a bullet. "Maybe you're not him after all."

"What are you talking about?" ___Who else could I be?_

"The Hope I knew... ___My _Hope would never use what you just did." She was glaring at him now. "Even if it meant he had to die, he would gladly perish than use what they did to him. To us. He promised me. He promised he'd sooner die than be a... a ___monster_."

Hope was still laughing when Snow came back after dumping off the bodies ("Just unconscious this time, nothing too serious"). Laughing, when he really ought to have been crying. He had been wrong. Silence was better than freak, than monster.

Not that he hadn't heard it once before, around the time his father died. ___What kind of son won't save his own father? _Bartholomew Estheim had asked.

___This kind_, Hope had told him. _The monstrous kind. ____Me._


End file.
